Grave Danger

by Rachel Grant

  “Why would Jack hire us if he buried Angela in the site? That doesn’t make sense. Jack’s too smart to be that stupid.”

  “The spouse is always the starting point for a murder investigation. Makes marriage sound so appealing.”

  “There’s no emotion stronger than love turned into hate,” Simone said, wishing she didn’t know that so well. “Have you got plans for the weekend?”

  Libby nodded. “With Mark.”

  “Already you don’t have time for me,” Simone said with as much melodrama as she could muster. “Seriously, if you’re busy—and being with Mark, I’m going to assume you will be both safe and busy—I think I’ll head to Seattle.” She couldn’t do a damn thing about the mess she’d made of her life in Coho, but she could do something about Aaron.

  “I thought you dumped your apartment?”

  “I need to finish cleaning, and I have it until the end of the month. May as well have a last hurrah before I resign myself to small-town life.” She tried to sound flippant.

  “I like it here.”

  “Says the woman who is currently getting laid.”

  Libby laughed. “Okay, I concede your point. But Jason Caruthers is here.”

  “Jason’s not my type,” she said more sharply than she’d intended.

  “Please. He’s completely your type.”

  Simone looked down. “No. He’s too pretty-boy for me.”

  “Simone, I know you. You want him. I just don’t understand why you aren’t going after him.”

  Simone had to put an end to this here and now. “He’s the son of our client, and you know me. I’d just screw him and dump him. We don’t need that.” Ninety-five percent of the time, her words would be true, but in this one instance, she was lying. What happened between Jason and her was her secret, one she couldn’t share with Libby.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  ON SATURDAY AFTERNOON, LIBBY followed Mark through the woods on acreage he owned outside Coho. They wound their way to what Mark described as his favorite place on earth. Between the two of them, they carried a large picnic lunch, plenty of water, and fishing gear.

  Libby’s father had been an avid fisherman, but fishing was just one more thing he never shared with his children, and so she’d avoided it. The prospect of being with Mark for her first time fishing was remarkably appealing.

  They scrambled down a steep slope and suddenly a narrow tributary was before them, lazily winding down from the mountains to the strait. A flat area adjacent to the glacier-fed river was grassy and shaded, and a small trail through shrubs provided access to the river. Even though it was a warm summer day, the air was crisp. She could practically smell the cold of the water, the scent mixing with the damp earth and leaves.

  “What do you think?” Mark asked.

  “It’s amazing,” she said, and meant it. She spread out the blanket on the flat above the bank and made herself comfortable while he organized his fishing gear.

  Less than forty-eight hours before, she’d been bound, gagged, doused in gasoline, and tortured. Even falling in love with Mark—which she was certain was happening with every moment they spent together—wasn’t quite enough to block out the horror of what happened late Thursday night. Mark knew it; she knew it. They’d talked about what happened late into the night last night, eventually deciding this picnic would be a good escape from the fear and questions that hounded her. Right now she just needed a break, and Mark was giving it to her.

  “Time for your first casting lesson.”

  She quickly learned she had zero natural talent for casting. They both laughed at her botched attempts, and he didn’t even complain when she snagged yet another of his hooks in the trees that lined the river.

  “Okay, so you know how to make a spearhead out of rock because that’s what Indians did a thousand years ago, but you can’t catch a fish?” Mark teased. “Wasn’t fishing just as important as hunting?”

  “Probably more important. Fish were abundant and easily harvested.” She caught the humor in his eye and defended herself. “Well, they were easily harvested when the rivers were full of them. This tributary probably ran out of fish in the sixties.”

  He dropped his pole and slid his arms around her waist. “You can tell yourself that if it makes you feel better.”

  “It does.”

  He picked her up and carried her down the path, stopping at the edge of the bank. “Or you can go for a swim and see for yourself if there are any fish in the river.”

  She clutched at his neck. “You wouldn’t dare.” But she could see from his face that he would. “Mark Colby, if you drop me in the river, then you’re going swimming too.”

  “Deal,” he said and jumped off the low bank into the frigid water. They landed in a four-foot deep pool, just deep enough for Mark to dunk her, which he did immediately. The water was so cold it burned. She gasped for breath as she scrambled for purchase. Laughing, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him, his cold, wet body plastered to hers in the middle of the river.

  His hot lips warmed her to the core. She tightened her grip on him and planted one foot on the silty river bottom. With her other foot she swept his legs out from under him, and he went down.

  She wrestled with him as long as she could stand the cold water—about twenty seconds—and then scrambled up the bank, smearing dirt on her wet clothes. She collapsed on the blanket. Mark dropped down next to her. His eyes were a vivid blue, lit with laughter and cold.

  She knew why he’d dunked her in the river. Every moment of playfulness was a distraction, a step away from Tasers and duct tape. And now, lying on the blanket, a shivering muddy mess, she felt more alive, more in love, than ever in her life.

  She pushed him onto his back and kissed him.

  He smiled at her. “You look like you did on Monday at the site, all coated in dirt and beautiful. I knew then that I wanted to take you here. Make love to you outside.” He unbuttoned her wet shirt. “You belong here, surrounded by trees, grass, water, dirt. An earthy place for an earthy woman.”

  “If I wasn’t already hooked on you, that line would have done it.”

  “It wasn’t a line.”

  The scary part was she believed him. He was too good to be true, which made her wonder if Mark had brought other women to this place or if this was as special for him as it was for her. But she didn’t ask. She was better off not knowing and needed to stop looking for flaws and enjoy the moment. Sheltered as they were by the shrubs, she felt no inhibition and stripped his wet clothes from him while he did the same for her. Their lovemaking went from slow and languid to hot and urgent. She watched Mark’s face as he came, reveling in the pleasure he took in her body, in her.

  Afterward, Mark traced the lines of mud that had transferred from her clothes to her skin. “You have an impressive scar here,” Mark said, running his fingers along the inside of her thigh.

  “Barbed wire fence,” she said. “I was working on a survey a few years ago. I tried to go over the fence at the same time a coworker tried to go under it—he lifted the wire at the wrong moment. I got caught on an extra sharp spur that cut through my pants, sliced open my thigh. I can say with authority that the inside upper thigh is an awkward place for stitches.”

  “Ouch.” He slid down and kissed the scar. “Tell me about your work,” he said. “Tell me about the layers of dirt, why they are so important, why you excavate them separately.”

  “Well, the different strata and their order tell us a lot.” She pushed him onto his back and moved on top of him. “For example, this is a good demonstration of the Law of Superposition. If you took Geology 101—rocks for jocks—you’ve probably heard of that scientific law.”

  “Sounds familiar.”

  “The Law of Superposition means that the lower stratum, in this case, you, is the oldest; anything above, in this case, me, is younger. Soils are deposited over time and the oldest stuff is on the bottom. If you can match up your strata across a site, you can get a
good idea of what events were concurrent.”

  “How do you explain something like this?” he asked, slipping inside her, shocking her with his ready erection.

  “Bioturbation.” She was still sensitive from her recent orgasm and gasped at the end of the word.

  He gave a bark of laughter. “Bio-what?”

  Eyes closed, she answered, “Rodents, insects, roots. Natural processes for the different strata to become intermixed.”

  “And what about this?” He rolled her underneath him.

  “Earthquake. Mudslide,” she managed to gasp out.

  “I don’t have a condom on.”

  “Damn.” She wrapped her legs around him, unwilling to let him leave her just yet, despite the risk of pregnancy. “I’m going to have to go on the pill.”

  “I’ll buy,” he offered, moving his hips in a way that made thinking impossible.

  “Deal,” she said with a groan. “Now let’s discuss the Richter scale. I think this could be a 9.4—literally earth-shattering.”

  “Are all archaeologists like this during sex?”

  “No. I’m much more fun. Are all cops as good in bed as you?”

  He paused.

  She knew she’d made a mistake. She relaxed her thighs and he slipped out of her.

  “Perhaps you can tell me,” he said.

  He wanted to know if she slept with Aaron. She didn’t know whether she felt annoyed or not. They hadn’t known each other then and her previous relationship should have no bearing on this one. But Aaron and his lies had been between them from the beginning. She understood his curiosity. The same kind of curiosity made her wonder if she was the only woman he’d made love to next to this river. She pulled his face to hers and kissed him. “I didn’t have sex with Aaron. You’re the only cop I’ve ever been with.”

  “I was out of line. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  She shrugged. “May as well get it out in the open.”

  “For what it’s worth, I’m glad.”

  “Not nearly as glad as I am.” She wanted so badly to believe that it was Aaron who attacked her. He was the villain she knew. The idea that it could be someone else terrified her. She asked him the one question she’d avoided so far. “Does he have an alibi for Thursday?”

  “Bobby is having a hard time tracking him down. All I know is he wasn’t on duty Thursday night.”

  So it still could be Aaron. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to remember the time when she knew him, the night she dumped him. Could that man have tried to kill her two nights ago?

  Yes, definitely.

  She looked at Mark. His eyes were guarded. Talk of Aaron had crushed their playful mood. She reached out and rubbed the stubble on his chin.

  “I’ll find out if it’s Aaron, Libby. If he attacked you, he won’t get away with it.”

  She rested her head on his chest. His hand slid over her back and then his fingers threaded through her hair. She closed her eyes in pleasure as his nails grazed her skin. “Why did you become a cop?”

  “A cop is what I always wanted to be. I think when I was a kid, it was about the gun and the car. Then I got older and I wanted to help people. I wanted to chase down bad guys and save the day. I had a romanticized notion of what being a cop was like. By the time I found out how wrong I was, it didn’t matter. I was hooked. The work suits me. I like reading people. I like following clues and working out the puzzle. I do less investigation now, but I like the community policing aspect of small-town police work. In Coho, my job is closer to my idealized vision of being a cop.” He palmed the back of her head and massaged her scalp. “Sometimes I even get to save the girl.” He grew serious again. “I’m going to find out who attacked you, and I’m going to protect you until your assailant is caught.”

  She stiffened. No man had ever offered to protect her before. Not her father. Especially not her father. She’d been taking care of herself and her little brother and sister since she was eleven years old. She didn’t lift her head to face him. She didn’t want him to see her reaction. Then he would know what an insecure basket case she was.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “Nothing.”

  With a finger under her chin, he urged her to meet his gaze. “Hey, didn’t I just tell you I can read people? That includes you.”

  “Can we save this one for later?”

  He stared at her for a long, silent moment. “Later, then.” He kissed her gently. “I seem to remember we were discussing the Richter scale.”

  Grateful for the change in subject, she reached for a condom. “I will tell you your score after you’ve rocked my world. You should know the scale has no upper limit—so there’s always room for improvement.”

  “You will definitely be the death of me.”

  Her lips settled into the crook of his neck as he slid within her. Words she’d never wanted to say to a man before formed in her throat. With silent lips, she pressed the words against his warm skin, not daring to speak them aloud.

  “God, this is good pizza,” Libby said.

  It was Sunday evening; their weekend respite was almost at an end. Mark had spoken on the phone with his officers several times in the last two days, but the time he’d taken off had been his longest break from the station since he moved to Coho. Libby sat at the table while he leaned against his kitchen counter and watched her, thoroughly enjoying the view as she licked the sauce from her fingers.

  “I think I’ll add the pizza place to my list of reasons to stay in Coho,” she added.

  He startled, shaking off the distracted fog that descended the second her index finger slipped inside her mouth. “I thought you moved here permanently.”

  “We’re here for the duration of the project, with the plan to stay if I can grow the business from here. But I need more than one client to do that.”

  “So you’re making a list of reasons to stay.”

  She grinned. “Yes, well, let’s see, so far there’s pizza and you.”

  Relief was accompanied with another emotion, and it wasn’t just the pleasure he took in her willingness to admit this was more than a casual fling. He loved watching her laugh, watching her talk, watching her orgasm. She did all three with equal abandon. She unconsciously made eating pizza into an erotic event. She was fearless in sharing her body, and demanding in the sharing of his.

  He’d never fallen this hard or this fast for someone. The timing wasn’t great, not with her being involved with two open investigations, but he couldn’t have waited, couldn’t have put aside this attraction until one or both cases were resolved.

  They’d spent the weekend making her feel safe, giving her a break from the stress of her project and the mystery of the attempt on her life. But tomorrow was Monday. Their return to the real world loomed.

  “I want you to stay with me,” he said, voicing the decision he’d made two days ago. “You’ll be safer here than in the Shelby house or with Simone.”

  She sat up straighter. Her face became serious, an acknowledgement of the fact that however temporarily, he’d just asked her to move in with him.

  “Are you sure?” she asked.

  “More than I’ve ever been about anything. You’re staying with me.” He left out his hope that the living arrangement would continue after her assailant was caught.

  “I still need to work at the Shelby house. It’s where my office is.”

  “I’ll have patrol pass the house regularly whenever you’re there.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ll need to know your schedule—just when you’re going to be at the house,” he added, realizing it sounded as though he’d be keeping tabs on her.

  “I’ll be there most of the day tomorrow. I have so much to do before I submit my draft on Friday. I’m meeting Jason for lunch, so I’ll be away for an hour or two.”

  A rush of jealousy startled Mark from complacency. “You have a date with Jason?”

  “It’s a business meeting. You’re t
he one who goaded him into calling our last lunch meeting a date.”

  “He’s interested in you.” He knew his words were a mistake. At least he didn’t mention the embrace he’d witnessed on Thursday night. On a rational level, he understood why she hugged him. On an emotional level, he’d wanted to march across the yard and pull them apart. He wanted Jason to know she was his.

  “I don’t think so. I think he likes Simone—there is something strange going on between them. But more important, I’m not interested in him. In case you can’t tell, I want you.” She crossed the room and cupped his face in her hands. “But you’re going to have to trust me. I’ll probably continue to need Jason’s help for the duration of this project. And, if not Jason, there will be some other male colleague. Being involved with an archaeologist is hard—I’m sometimes gone for months at a time, camping in the middle of nowhere, not reachable even by cell phone. This relationship won’t survive without trust.”

  Time she knew the truth about what she could expect if their relationship continued, which he wanted more than anything. “Relationships with a cop are also hard. I’ve been in love before. But love isn’t enough. She got tired of the odd hours and late nights, and wondering if I’d be injured in the line of duty.”

  “So she left?” His ego was mollified at Libby’s shocked tone.

  “She wanted me to go to law school. We compromised and I went to grad school, to get a degree in public administration. I thought she’d be satisfied if I became a police chief.”

  “You must have been pretty serious if you went back to school for her.”

  He nodded. “We were engaged.” He was doing a lousy job explaining. “We lived together, but we never set a date for the wedding. I think we both knew it wasn’t working.” He paused. Now was as good a time as any to tell her the rest. “There’s one thing you should know. Sheila—my ex-fiancée—had an affair with Jason.”

  She gasped. “You knew him when you worked in Seattle?”

  “We worked the opposite side of a few cases. She met him the same way she met me—through her work as a court reporter.”